Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1887-03-27
NY POOR LITTLE STORY.
tan Year Round.l
CHAPTER /.

Mother says Appearance is OF no con
sequence ultimately. l wonder what
she means by ultimately? j think she
must mean after death, for l am sure
being pretty matters TO awoman aslong
as she lives.
Father judges the matter differently,
and much more correctly, think. He
says beauty is hike letter Of introduc-
ton; as long as they who bear it don't
themselves dscredit il, il opens all por-
tails to them.
To be the one plain member of SIM
gularly handsome family, to love beau
" and TO lack il, is hard enough lot
when one is young and keen of feeling !;
but, no doubt, shall come not to mind
ultimately-which means when L am
dead.
Now, there was Marion, my sister !
wonder how many people have ever
seen woman as beautiful as Marion
Her life and mine lie far apart now,
and do not know that either OF us de-
sires that fact altered but, for all that.
never think of her, as / saw her a
hundred times, without little thrill OF
rapture.
She was neither fair nor dark, but
what the French call chataine her
ewes we're blue as sapphires, and soft
aud serene ~ a summer sky, and her
hair was auburn--that is, golden in the
sunshine and bronze in the shade. She
was tall and slim, but straight as pine,
and she carried herself in a royal way,
like a queen among courtiers who loved
her. Oh, do full justice to her beauty
and to everything else that was win
some about her
Mother had made love match had
married father in spite of ali her family,
and, naturally enough, her family ig-
nored her after that. Father was only
a curate, and of no particular antece-
dents, and her father was Lord Hurst,
of Stonehurst, fourth baron of that
name, and she might have called herself
the Hon. Mrs. Enrol had she chosen.
But she never did choose she was salts
fed to be a poor mans wife, she said,
and she adapted herself to the circum-
stances attendant on her altered for
tunes in way that knew to be heroic
when / understood.
She never talked OF her family, and
we children had no personal knowledge
of anything better than the shabby
house We lived in, the poor food we
consumed, and the poor clothing we
wore and yet, in some inexphcable
way, we knew that our grandfather was
peer, and regarded ourselves as very
much better than our neighbors in cos
sequence. / have no doubt now that
our little airs of self.importance often
rende red us pitifully ridiculous; but, ut
any rate, they made us fearless of
every one, and lent us bearing that,
perhaps, was preferable to rustic shy
ness.
must have been between seven and
eight years old when Lord Hurst died,
without even seeing mother or sending
her a message, and | remember yet the
misery she suffered in consequence.
1 suppose when people are dead We
begin to tell ourselyes-untruthfully,
though, l am sure-that they were
always right, and then We break our
hearts because we grieved them.
From all ever heard of Lord Hurst
/ do not think there was any room for
doubt that the deceased Baron was
cold, obstinate old curmudgeon; but ii
he had embodied all the virtues in the
calendar, mother could not have ideal
lied or lamented him more.
"To think that he died and never
forgave me !" she used to say to father
and what could father answer? And
her family continued the feud after
Lord Hurst's death, and no one held
ont the olive branch to mother. But
she never blamed them. Some of them
were younger than she, and she only
said: CATER so many years they could
not possibly care"
1t was quite three years after Lord
Hurst's death, and when no one was
thinking of anything of the kind, that
Aunt Hilda came to look us up and to
make friends. She had spent about fif-
teen years bordering overmother mis-
doings, and / certainly think she might
have forgiven her a little sooner; but
that never seemed to occur to mother,
who wept on her sisters neck as if she
had been On angel of mercy.
Aunt Hilda was no longer young
woman, and | think she never could
have been pretty one, for her face
was thin, her nose beaky, and her COM
plexion chill and pale. but she was i'm
pressive-looking for all that.
When mother and she had poured out
their hearts to each other we were all
brought in to make her acquaintance,
and to me, at any rate, the ordeal was
very trying. She did not kiss us or
even shake hands with us she just
scrutinized us the one after the other,
her curiosity visibly tinged with aver
sion.
"A goodly quiverful, Mile" she
said, with faint, slow smile but when
Marion appeared. bringing up the rear.
her whole face softened.
"a Hurst" she said, and offered her
cheek for Marion TO kiss.
Aunt Rilda stopped at the hotel in
the village that night, and next day we
learned that she was going to take Ma
ricn 10 live with her.
We were all much aweG by the
tidings, and Marion herself was half
dismayed and half delighted.
at is a splendid opportunity for
err" mother laid with tears i'll her soft
eyes, "and, beautiful as she is, her
destiny msy be a grand one.
SO that was the first thing Narion's
face brought her-Aunt Hilla's favor
and the chance of q great destiny.
For five years alter she left us we
never saw Marion, though we heard
from her regularly.
With us life went on quietly, but less
sadly than more prosperous people
would suppose. The boys. who came
next to me, were growing up and pro-
missing well, and the younger girls were
learning to be helpful. Then a new
rector had come in place of the old one,
and he was kind to father and friendly
with the wholeof us. He was young
ish man and bachelor pleasant to look
at, and pleasanter still to talk to and
though our parlor was sadly shabby
apartment, liked it on winter eve
nings when the lamp was lighted and
the curtains drawn. and when Mr.. Drew
sat beside the hearth discoursing with
father.
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